The Odyssey of Tommy Wilson
by TonyStarkakaIronMan
Summary: Tommy is a 17 year old martial artist who is earnest, strong, and loyal to his friends. Too bad he's a member of the Foot Clan. Chapter Five up: Who made the cut?
1. Out of the Frying Pan

My name is Thomas Allan Wilson, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to die.

I'm standing in a filthy, graffiti-scarred hallway, flanked on either side by T-bone and Cutter, two of the toughest and not to mention most violent members of my gang, the Purple Dragons.

Now don't get me wrong, when I saw "my gang" that just means I'm a member. I don't own it. In fact, if anything, it owns me. Something that has become painfully obvious in the past ten minutes.

My heart is going a mile a minute thanks to adrenalin and a healthy dose of fear. I consider making a break for it. I'm a pretty good martial artist. I made black belt before Dad died and my life began a gradual downward spiral into the toilet. Add that natural skill to all the street fighting experience I've picked up running with the Dragons these past three months, and I might have a chance.

I scope out my chaperones casually.

T-bone, naturally, is built like a slab of meat. He's like one of those body-building guys I'd see on ESPN, back when Mom and I could afford cable TV. I swear he's got no neck and biceps bigger than my head. Thing is, though, he's about as smart as a piece of steak and not very quick.

It might be the adrenalin talking, but I could probably take him.

Cutter, on the other hand, is another story.

The guy creeps me out. The nickname comes from his skill with knives, something I've had the unfortunate experience of observing on the few occasions he's been assigned to us by the Big Boss. I've seen him hit a target dead center with a throwing knife from 50 feet away.

But that's not the part that scares me. It's the look in his eyes when he has a blade out. Sort of a cross between a surgeon's clinical observation and a psycho's unrestrained glee. I saw the aftermath of some of his up close and personal work and I couldn't eat for almost two days.

He's quick, he's cunning, and he's armed.

If it was just him and me, I'd be willing to give it a go. Cutter's a real bad guy and he deserves a beating, especially after what he did to that prostitute last week.

But he's not alone, and that makes all the difference.

Adrenalin or no, I can't take on both of them at the same time, especially with 20 other Purple Dragons in the same building. For about the thousandth time, I wonder how it came to this. I don't consider myself a bad person. I never wanted to be a gangbanger, and the Purple Dragons have the biggest bang of all the gangs on the East Side of New York.

But life doesn't work out for some people and you do the best you can. Too bad it looks like my best won't be nearly enough.

Unable to just stand here anymore, I finally speak out.

"What's this all about, Cutter? Did I do something wrong?"

Of course, I know I did. At least as far as the Dragons are concerned.

"Shut up, Tommy," Cutter replies.

I look to T-bone for some assistance, but his face might as well be made of stone. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he didn't get this high in the Dragons by sticking his neck out.

Especially for relative newbies like me who don't do what they're told.

I look back down towards my feet, trying not to focus on the vast variety of disgusting items that litter the dirty concrete floor.

I wonder if my mom's okay. Is she waiting up for me or has she decided to go to sleep, confident that I'll be returning from my "night job" in a few hours? I hate lying to her, but I had to explain the money to her somehow. They were going to evict us, and she was already working two and a half jobs to keep us afloat.

And then she got sick.

I'd see the Dragons here and there when I went to school. Being a good kid, I'd avoid them like the plague. I was a junior, and had a decent GPA at school. I wasn't going to be valedictorian or anything, but I was in the top five to ten percent. Ivy League was a dream, but a halfway decent scholarship to a CUNY or SUNY school was a distinct possibility.

At least it was until that cold day in March.

I came across some Dragonsne harassing one of the freshmen girls on the way home. I can't stand treating women badly. It's something my Dad taught me. "Never treat a woman with disrespect, Tommy," he used to tell me, "They are all someone's mother, sister, wife, or daughter."

There were three of them. One of them had grabbed her from behind, while another was starting to rip off her shirt. The last one was a lookout, and he quickly told me to vacate the premises, using far more direct and colorful language.

I'm not sure exactly how it happened. All I remember is the look in that girl's eyes. The helplessness and the fear. Next thing I know, two of the Dragons are on the ground and I'm beating the crap out of a third. He got a couple good licks in, but a solid kick to the face ended it.

After I walked the girl home (funny thing is, I never really asked her name), realization washed over me. I just humiliated members of the most powerful street gang on the East Side. I was a dead man.

Sure enough, a couple days later, a dozen Purple Dragons were lounging on the steps to my apartment building, all of them armed and ready to beat the living shit out of me. I was able to take down five before a baseball bat to the head made me see stars and I hit the ground hard.

I'm not too sure what happened next, except that I woke up tied to a chair in some basement somewhere surrounded by a bunch of gang members. One of their leaders made me an offer I couldn't refuse. He told me that they could use a guy like me, a good fighter. He told me that they knew my mom was sick and that money was a problem. He told me that in exchange for my loyalty, they'd take care of our money issues.

He also told me that if I declined, both my mother and me would be dead by dawn.

Some choice.

I'm brought out of my trip down memory lane by the sound of a door opening. Not just any door. _The_ door.

The Big Boss's door.

I could feel both T-bone and Cutter tense up. They both put a hand on my shoulder, almost as if they were going to use me as a shield.

This was bad.

The Big Boss was a bit of a legend to the Purple Dragons. I'd never seen him, but several others had.

Hun was the glue that kept the gang together.

No one dared to stand up to him, and those that were suicidal enough to try quickly disappeared.

And he had sent for me.

"Send him in, Cutter," a deep voice called from the doorway. I didn't think anyone could have a deeper voice than T-bone, but I was obviously wrong.

Two hands practically pushed me forward.

Faster than I would have thought, I was an office that had seen far better days.

As the door closed with a sense of finality, I quickly realized why everyone called him the Big Boss. Even from fifteen feet away, he towered over me. He was as tall as Shaq, but as wide as one of these sumo wrestlers I saw in an Austin Powers movie.

Only there didn't appear to be any fat on this guy.

A fresh wave of adrenalin washed over me.

I'm gonna die.

"You, uh, you wanted to see me, Sir?" I stammered.

"Yes," he closed with me. Two strides and he was within a yard, "Tommy, is it?"

"Yes, sir." Geeze, he's HUGE!

"I'm heard a lot about you, Tommy."

I instantly believe that's a very bad thing.

I thought I had been careful. Sabotaging the Dragons subtly whenever I thought I could get away with it, going along reluctantly when I had no other choice.

It must have been that Casey Jones thing that tipped them off.

It was over two weeks ago now, but the memory stayed fresh in my mind. Casey Jones was a hockey mask-wearing lunatic that stuck his nose into Dragon business whenever he could.

Strong son-of-a-bitch and good with weapons, even though he had an odd arsenal, primarily sports equipment. But a golf club can cave in a skull just as well as a lead pipe, I suppose.

Apparently, a few years back, the gang had killed Jones' father, and he'd been fighting and generally messing with them ever since. So when a bunch of us had him cornered by the waterfront, it was a big deal.

I had to admit the guy was a great fighter, although brawler was probably a better word. He was plowing through guys left and right. Haymakers and boot stomping everywhere.

I was lucky.

He didn't expect any of the Dragons to be a decent martial artist. I was able to land a few good strikes to slow him down. Sheer numbers took care of the rest.

Still, when the dust settled, only me and a guy named Digger were left. Digger didn't waste anytime. He pulled out a gun and put it to the back of Casey's head, execution style.

Now I knew I was in a rough place, but I wasn't about to let him kill somebody in cold blood. So I snuck up behind Digger and knocked him out. Then I tried to wake up Jones, but the guy decked me before I could explain the situation.

I woke up just as the cops were arriving and got the hell out of Dodge.

Digger and the rest weren't so lucky.

I know they finally got out of jail a few days ago.

And now Hun tells me he's heard things about me.

I'm so dead.

"I'm just doing what they tell me to do, Sir."

Hun nods.

"How's your mother, Tommy?"

An icy feeling coats the pit of my stomach.

"She's doing a lot better, Sir. She recently went back to work."

"Any problems with the landlord?"

"Uh, no sir. Rent's back up to date, thanks to the Dragons." And some behind the scenes intimidation I really don't want to know about.

"Good, that's good." Hun smiles.

That only makes him look scarier.

He turns from me and walks back to a window. He stares out of it for a few minutes, hands clasped casually behind his back, and I wonder if they'll ever find my body.

"Tell me, Tommy, are you happy working for the Purple Dragons?"

That's a loaded question and I think furiously for the proper response. But part of me rebels. My Dad would already be disappointed with my choices, but a lot of what he tried to instill in me still resonates within the fiber of my being. If I'm going to die, I should try to do it with some honor.

So I remind silent.

Hun looks at me over one massive shoulder.

"I thought so."

Suddenly he charges at me.

I have no idea how someone so big can move so fast, but I barely dive out of the way as a fist the size of basketball nearly takes my head off.

I roll to my feet and throw a punch at his midsection.

It's like hitting a wall.

He swats at me like I'm some kind of bug.

I attempt to block it, but am knocked off my feet and slam into a filing cabinet, denting it in the process.

Hun straightens up and cracks his knuckles.

"That all you got, Tommy? They told me you had some moves."

I try a flying kick, but he knocks it aside.

I follow through with a leg sweep.

It's like trying to chop down a tree with your foot.

He throws a punch, clearly bored.

I grab it, shift my weight, and use his momentum. I actually topple him, but he expertly follows through and ends up standing almost as soon as I am.

"That's a little better."

"What do you want from me?" I scream. I realize he can kill me anytime he wants to and he knows it.

He doesn't reply, attacking again.

This time, he's all business. The punches are quick and to the point. I avoid a few and then take one to the gut. I lose all my breath and most of my lunch. But I don't go down. He's trying to box me in a corner, and if he does it will be over even quicker.

I kick him in the face, trying to put some space behind myself and him. Surprisingly, it connects. It's a solid blow and I think maybe his head snaps back an inch.

Then one massive hand closes around my leg before I can withdraw it and I'm tossed across the room like a rag doll. I collide with the window and nearly go through it. As it is, it cracks crazily and I slide down the wall.

"Not bad, Tommy. Not bad."

I want to stay down.

I should stay down.

But my Mom's waiting for me to come home and I'll be damned if I don't do everything I can to stay alive.

I stand up, wobbily.

The copper taste of blood fills my mouth.

I spit it out and assume a defensive stance.

This would be so much easier if the room would stand still.

Hun laughs, clearly pleased.

"You got guts, kid, I'll give you that."

I am so confused.

"And your fighting skills aren't half bad."

Hun walked up to me and points a sausage-sized finger at my head.

"And according to the boys, you've got half a brain."

I take a step back and start to relax as I realize that maybe, just maybe, I'm not going to die. At least not tonight.

Hun nods and snaps his fingers.

Suddenly, there are four more people in the office with us. I'm not quite sure if they were already there or if they just appeared. I thought I caught I glimpse of one of them dropping from a skylight, but I'm so quickly distracted by their garb that my brain drops the issue.

Ninjas.

Holy crap. Real-life ninjas.

Head-to-toe covered, katana-wielding, shadow-sneaking ninjas!

I look from the ninjas to Hun and back.

"I don't understand," I admit.

"It's really quite simply, Tommy," Hun replies, clasping me by the shoulder. His hand feels like it weights 20 pounds.

"You're being promoted."

The words register in my mind, but they don't make any sense.

"Welcome to the Foot Clan."

Realization dawns, and I begin to wonder if there truly are things worse than death.

Something tells me that I'm going to find out.


	2. Foot in Training

I survey my recently acquired collection of bumps, bruises, and lacerations in the mirror and sigh.

I ponder the irony of simultaneously being in the best shape of my life while getting the crap kicked out of me on a daily basis.

I have rock hard abs. You know, that "six pack" abdomen all over the fitness magazines? I have that. Only it's covered by black and blue contusions.

Not a pretty sight.

My chest and shoulders are well-toned. Pecs, biceps, and triceps are as defined as they've ever been. Too bad the welts, cuts, and other minor wounds stick out like a sore thumb. Speaking of thumbs, I nearly dislocated my left one during my last practice.

Don't even get me started on what my legs have been through. I'm lucky I can stand in front of a mirror, much less walk.

I lean a little closer towards my reflection and check out the black eye Master Yoshi gave me less than an hour ago. It contrasts nicely with the brown undamaged one, although if I hadn't partially blocked his strike, both of them would have been hit.

At least it's stopped swelling up, so I guess those herbal remedies he smeared all over it really work.

My attention is drawn to my hair. Or rather, what little is left of it.

I'm still not quite used to it being cut so short. Hell, they practically buzzed it when I joined the Clan.

Technically, I'm not an official member just yet.

They've been running me and the rest of my training class ragged for almost two months now. There were ten of us at the start, but now we're down to six. A couple guys washed out within the first week, while another got sick of the regimen a month into it. I don't think I really want to know what happened to that guy. I doubt he's still breathing.

The last guy to go was Billy.

Billy was a stand up guy. Always fought honorably and pretty smart to boot. He was the closest thing I had to a buddy since this latest nightmare in my increasing shitty life began. Too bad that bastard Takara broke his back during balance training.

We were sparring hand-to-hand while walking a tightrope 50 feet above the ground. No net, of course. The Foot isn't too concerned with safety. Big believers in survival of the fittest and all that.

Anyway, Billy and Takara were going at it pretty fast and furious. No one in our class likes Takara all that much, mainly because he's made it clear he's willing to do whatever it takes to win, including serious injury to his teammates. A point proven once again when he finally knocks Billy off the wire.

Billy manages to catch himself before he falls, snagging the tightrope with one hand. Normally, that'd be the end of it. Takara wins. Yay. Now we get to listen to him brag about it all day. Only this time, winning's not enough.

So Billy's dangling there, barely holding on, and does Takara help him? Hell, no! He stomps on Billy's fingers and watches him fall.

Poor Billy. He tried to twist and land correctly, but it's simply too far for him.

I'll never forget the sickening sound his back made when he hit the ground.

Worse part was, I stare up at the sonovabitch who dropped him and he's laughing.

Like crippling someone for life is a fucking joke.

Master Yoshi punished Takara later, but it's merely a slap on the wrist.

Ruthlessness is rewarded in the Foot Clan.

For about the millionth time I wonder what the hell I'm doing here.

"You look like shit," a feminine voice remarks from behind me.

I spin around, surprised.

An oriental girl with shorn hair and green eyes is standing there.

Sato.

One of the two girls in our training course.

Believe it or not, the Foot Clan is an equal opportunity employer. The garb the ninjas have to wear is padded so that you can't tell the gender of the person. Add the mask and the silence, and you have no clue about any of their members. The Foot become endless hoards of faceless, voiceless soldiers aligned to one common purpose.

What that purpose is, lowly trainees don't need to know.

Yet.

Sato stares at me, looking somewhat amused. She cocks her head appraisingly and reaches out to brush the side of my face. I wince, and pull back.

"Ouch."

Then I do a double take.

She's not supposed to be here.

"Sato, what are you doing here? This is the male dorm. If you get caught—"

"What's the point of learning all of this ninjitsu if we can't use it to get into places we're not supposed to go?"

I can't come up with a decent response.

I'm too busy looking at her eyes. They captivate me. I've never seen eyes that green. Not even in the movies. I noticed them within the first few seconds we met.

The rest of her isn't so bad, either.

She holds her own in a fight, that's for sure. I made the mistake of going easy on her the first time we sparred, letting my instinct to protect woman get the better of me.

I was rewarded with a hard kick to the nuts. I never made that mistake again.

She says something I don't catch.

"What?"

Boy, _that_ was clever.

"I said, I liked the way you bested Takara today. The jerk had it coming."

"'Bested?'" I reply, "Do real people talk like that?"

She makes me nervous, and when I'm nervous the sarcasm flows freely.

"Fine," she steps over to a neighboring mirror and checks herself out, "I loved the way you kicked his ass. Is that better?"

She runs a hand through her short hair and sighs.

She turns back to me, and it takes me several more seconds to realize I'm staring.

"Are you okay? Is there something on my face?" She looks back into the mirror, breaking the hypnotic spell she apparently has over me.

"No. . . No!" I stammer, realizing I'm practically naked since I had just come out of the shower a few minutes earlier. I'm uncomfortable around Sato when I'm fully clothed, much less wearing only a towel.

I decide to turn away from her and finish cleaning up.

"Is there something I can do to help you, Sato? We only have a few minutes until curfew."

"Maybe," she says slowly.

She slides next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. She tilts her head so that it rests against mine. I look in the mirror, seeing the two of us together like that.

I have to admit I like it.

She smiles.

"I overheard something today . . . while I was . . . practicing my stealth skills."

"Practicing?" Once again, I manage to wrest free of my hormones and use my head, "You mean, eavesdropping!"

I pull away from her, although a good chunk of me doesn't want to.

"Sato, do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in for breaking rules? It's not like you'd just get detention! Remember what happened to Osiris?"

She folds her arms over her chest and looks annoyed.

"Do you want to hear about it or not?"

Curiosity and an equal desire to please her make me nod my head.

She smiles, looks over her shoulder to make sure we're alone, and leans in conspiratorially.

"I overhead Master Yoshi speaking to Hun," she whispers, "Tomorrow night is our final exam. Only four of us are going to be allowed to pass it."

I whistle softly, "That means two of us are out of luck."

"Good, you can do math," she says sarcastically, straightening up.

I blush a bit. I'm about as smooth as a pot hole when it comes to her.

She rolls her eyes and continues.

"But that's not the juicy part. Get this! The exam is going to be outside, in the city."

"No way!" I blurt, truly excited. I haven't see anything beyond the training compound in almost 60 days. The thought of fresh air and open space gets my heart pounding faster than when I stare at Sato.

"Isn't that awesome! I can't wait!" She smiles broadly, and for a second Sato's just a typical high school teen gushing about prom or some other mundane event. In that instant, she is the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.

Sadly, it doesn't last.

"There is a down side, though," she continues, face serious once again, "The final is going to be tough."

"Duh," I reply, "That goes without saying."

"No, you don't understand. It's a hunt."

"What? Like a scavenger hunt?"

"No. Foot ninjas are the hunters."

My stomach drops. Other than Master Yoshi, I haven't seen a Foot ninja since my near death experience in Hun's office. And while I now have basic knowledge and training in the ninja arts, those guys scare the hell out of me. I'm like a star high school football player. Those guys are the freaking NFL.

"And we're the prey?" I ask quietly, already knowing the answer.

She nods.

We stand there in silence for a few minutes.

The bathroom has become cold. I shiver slightly.

"Why are you telling me this, Sato?"

For the first time, she seems a bit taken aback.

"I just wanted to give you a heads up, that's all."

"Are you telling everybody, or just me?"

She pauses, taking in her surrounding for a few seconds before continuing.

"I told Jesse. We're pretty tight."

I smile. Jesselina is a Latino girl. Tough as nails. She always helps me up when she kicks my ass. I do the same when I return the favor.

"What about Theo and Shea?"

She shakes her head.

I don't need to ask about Takara. Did I mention that he's a chauvinist on top of all his other endearing traits? Whenever he takes one of the girl's down, he makes a crude remark, usually some variation of how being on one's back is the natural position for a woman. At if that wasn't enough, he's got this look in his eye when he watches Sato and Jesse. A nasty combination of contempt, anger, and lust.

Real piece of work, that Takara.

"So why'd you pick me, then?"

She blushes.

Not by much, but her cheeks definitely color.

"Look, I don't have to explain myself to you!"

She spins away and begins to leave.

"Wait! Wait a second!"

I reach out and snag her wrist.

She whirls back around instantly, breaking my hold and assuming a combat stance.

I immediately raise my hands and back off.

"Whoa! Hey, take it easy!"

She relaxes.

A little.

"I just wanted to say thanks. I appreciate the information. You went out of your way to help me out. I won't forget that."

Her face softens.

Then she closes with me abruptly and brushes my cheek with her lips.

"Just take care of yourself out there. Okay?"

She leaps straight up and disappears into an air vent, all without the slightest sound. Sato always was the best in the class at stealth.

I stare after her.

I just know that slight touch is going to haunt me all night.


	3. The Hunt: Part One

The wind blows strongly against my face, forcing the sweat out of my eyes.

Fear quickly replaces it.

I'm 80 stories up on the roof of hi-tech skyscraper, only I'm surrounded by a decorative Japanese rock garden, complete with dojo and one of those fancy carp ponds whose name escapes me at the moment. There's a bunch of other authentic Japanese stuff I don't know around me, but I recognize it from all the anime I've watched.

I'm in the middle of Manhattan and feudal Japan at the same time.

To top it all off, a helicopter is landing 50 feet from me.

And, oh yeah, there's like 100 Foot ninjas here, all lined up near the helipad. Apparently there are several types of Foot, including some very scary-looking guys in large straw hats. It reminds me of that scene in _Return of the Jedi_ when the emperor comes to the new Death Star.

So the guy in the helicopter must be the Emperor of the Hand.

Panic begins to set in, so I look over at Sato in a pathetic attempt to calm down.

She winks at me and then turns away to watch the chopper touch down.

I smile. I know she's got to be as nervous as I am, but she'll be damned if she's going to show it. I find myself liking her more and more each time I see her.

I glance at the rest of my class.

Takara's face is almost expressionless, but his eyes gleam with all too familiar arrogance. He simply stares ahead, stance relaxed.

God, I hate him.

I thought beating the crap out of him yesterday would get it out of my system, but that smug look on his face just makes me want to do it again. Of course, the fight was a lot more evenly matched than I would like to admit. To be honest, it could have gone either way.

I move on to Jesse. She, at least, looks a bit nervous.

Her eyes meet mine and I smile instinctively.

She gives me the barest hint of a grin and looks away.

That's Jesse. Always has to be the tough girl. She's a better fighter than Sato, but not nearly as agile. Still, I wouldn't mind having her at my back in a fight.

Theo and Shea are standing close to together, they don't look at me at all, but I can see the sweat forming on their brows. Theo's African-American and Shea's a white guy like me. They've been best buds since our group began training. Kind of like me and Billy before he got crippled. Both of them are standup guys, though. It'd be fine with me if either of them made the cut.

But the fact is, two of us aren't going on to the next level.

Master Yoshi explained everything to us this morning.

It's basically hide and seek, ninja style. We will have a 10 minute head start in which to disappear into the city, and then teams of Foot will attempt to track us down and capture us. We are allowed to fight back, although no weapons are to be used. The first two captured are out of luck. The rest of us pass.

None of us asked what happens to the ones who fail.

We really don't want to know.

A roar from the assembled Foot Clan members draws my attention to the helipad.

The doors have opened and a single man steps out.

He's covered head to toe in the scariest armor I've ever seen. Curved spikes are everywhere. Shoulders, forearms, shins. Hell, even his helmet has them.

I wouldn't even begin to know how to effectively attack him without slicing myself to ribbons. Not that I would in my most deranged and wildly insane thoughts _ever_ consider such an attack.

Because this guy SCARES the living shit out of me.

I thought Hun was intimidating, but I now realize Hun's nothing. Hun's a frickin' teddy bear. Hun's a Cabbage Patch kid. He's the Easter Bunny. He's a puppy, wagging his tail and licking your face compared to this armored visage of death.

Who is striding purposefully towards us

right

this

very

second.

He stops exactly 10 feet in front of us and quickly takes us in.

I'm really wishing I had a mask, but trainee's aren't allowed those.

I swear his eyes are glowing underneath that helmet, which covers his entire face. They flickered over me for only a few seconds, but it seems to last a lifetime. I suddenly realized that I've been holding my breath. Probably for a very long time.

"Thank you, Master Shredder," Sensei Yoshi says gracefully, bowing with some flourish. We immediately follow his lead. "We are humbled by your presence for our exit exam."

"This had better not be a waste of my time, Yoshi. Your recruits have been somewhat disappointing as of late."

Sensai Yoshi's face reddens a bit at that remark, but he remains silent.

Even this guy's voice scares me.

"Introduce yourselves," The Shredder commands.

One by one, we step forward. Whatever the others say is a blur as my heart pounds. I'm fourth in line, and all to soon, it's my turn.

I step forward smartly, body practically on auto-pilot.

"Initiate Thomas Wilson, Master Shredder," I state as firmly as I can, bowing.

I'm about to return to the line when the Shredder does something he didn't do to any of the others. He asks me a question.

"Wilson?" The Shredder cocks his head slightly, "Hun's recruit?"

I nod, heart doing a rather impressive imitation of a jackhammer.

He looks back at Hun, who's standing in line near the four really scary ninjas.

"I hope he lives up to his reputation, Hun. I will look forward to his performance."

Shredder gestures for me to return to my place and I glance at Hun.

His eyes tell me everything I need to know.

_If I mess up, he's gonna kill me himself._

---

The ground speeds towards me at a weird angle as I fall.

A few months ago, I'd have been screaming my head off, seconds away from becoming a chunky, red smear that some poor NYC sanitation worker would have had to clean up.

But not now.

I've got Foot training now.

Of course, that doesn't stop me from screaming my head off on the inside.

I utilize the techniques Master Yoshi painstakingly taught us and somehow manage to slow my fall enough to land on the roof of a nearby building several stories below Foot Headquarters.

I stumble a bit and roll rather haphazardly but quickly regain my footing and take off. The only thing on my mind right now is to put some distance between myself and my pursuers.

So I repeat the whole scared-out-of-my-mind-while-I-fall-to-my-apparent-death routine several more times until I finally pause a mere two stories above the street.

I take a few deep breaths and try to figure out my next move.

"What took you so long?"

I jump like a total rookie and spun into a defensive crouch.

Sato grins at me from a fire escape only ten feet above me on a neighboring building, "Slow poke."

I shake my head in disbelief.

"How the hell did you---?"

She drops gracefully to the roof and bows, "A true master never reveals her secrets."

An idea dawns on me.

"Hey, you wanna hook up?"

She tilts her head, giving me a strange look, and I realize what I just said.

"I mean, do you want to _team_ up? Team up! You know, work together? They probably won't be expecting that!"

She smirks at my pathetic attempt to cover my Freudian slip, but then shakes her head, "Sorry, Tommy! Stealth is my specialty, and you'll only cramp my style."

She begins to run towards me.

"And since we all know you _suck_ at stealth—"

She leaps gracefully over me.

"---you better get moving."

And disappears into the darkness below.

I swear and take off in another direction.

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Author's Note: Not feeling much love from you guys for Tommy. Leave a review if you're enjoying his adventure.


	4. The Hunt: Part Two

God hates me.

No, really, He does.

Why else would they have found me so easily?

I mean, I must have ran 30 blocks, full speed right after Sato blew me off. I went over, around, and through every type of building in every conceivable way, zigging and zagging and even backtracking a few times, all in a vain attempt to buy me enough time NOT to be the first one caught.

And yet, here I am, trapped on a rooftop, with three Foot surrounding me in standard pyramid formation.

Maybe if I had been allowed to go to ground in the sewers . . . but they are off limits to us for some reason. I guess they really don't want to dry clean all those gis.

I've noticed that my sarcasm spikes significantly when I'm scared shitless.

Good thing I haven't eaten in awhile.

I assume a relaxed combat stance, neither overtly offensive or defensive. I'm only looking for an opening to escape right now. Natural ability and training or not, there's no way I'm ready to take on three ranking members of the Clan.

One maybe.

Two if I was having a _really_ good day.

My ruminations are interrupted by a sudden attack by one of them.

I manage to block his strike (at least I think it's a he, the uniforms are designed to mask all individuality), grab his arm by the wrist and shoulder, and throw him into one of his companions. I must have caught him by surprise, because the throw works perfectly.

I don't stick around to see if his buddy managed to dodge the man-sized projectile, instead opting to dive over the edge of the roof.

I catch the railing of a fire escape halfway down, pivot onto the top of a closed dumpster, and leap into the alley, sprinting for all I'm worth toward the opening to the street. Then, just before I reach the sidewalk, I dive forward prone onto the ground.

Sure enough, a split-second later, a Foot ninja lands clumsily in front of me, not quite adjusting to the fact that my head didn't stay where it was supposed to. So instead of smashing my head in with a perfect flying kick, he hits nothing and is off-balance.

See, that's one advantage I have over these guys.

I'm _creative._

I twist neatly and swing my legs out, sweeping both of his feet and knocking him on his ass. I jump to my feet and kick him a few times. A cheap shot, I know, but hey, I'm trying to win this thing.

I decide not to press my luck with another attack (although, I must admit, I'm enjoying getting a couple licks in), and book out into the street.

A car honks at me and swerves, while a large truck bears on down me.

One somersault later and I'm perched on top of the cab of said truck and putting some distance between me and my pursuers.

I have all of ten seconds to pat myself on the back before the Foot are chasing after me, literally leaping from vehicle to vehicle, kind of guys those guys in Martix II, only they don't wreck the cars as much. I turn to face them, preparing for the inevitable.

I'm guessing I shouldn't have picked a delivery truck, 'cause they're gaining fast.

At least the truck has a nice flat roof to fight on.

Time to play king of the mountain.

Too bad my mountain stops for a red light and I stumble landing on my butt, nearly falling backward onto the roof of the cab. As it is, my head and shoulders are dangling over the edge.

Sucks to be me.

I roll to the side, just in time to avoid a punch in the mouth.

Seems like I'm beginning to piss them off.

It doesn't look good to let a newbie get the best of you, I suppose.

I continue rolling, falling off the passenger side of the truck, catching the edge of the roof with my fingers on the way down. I use my momentum to swing my body in a nice arc, and bring my feet back up in an almost complete circle. The move isn't easy, as some of my old training wounds are quick to alert me, but I'm rewarded with a perfect strike to one of the Foot's heads. The force of the blow spins him like a top and drops to the top of the roof, stunned.

Ha! Sucker didn't see that one coming!

I'd love to trash talk or at least let out a primal yell of triumph, but one of the cardinal tenets of the Foot Clan is that combatants shall make no noise in combat.

Personally, I think that rule sucks, but it's the Foot's world, I only live in it.

I squat on the roof of the truck and push off, reaching the horizontal traffic signal pole. You never quite realize just how big those lights are until you've been up close and personal. They're bigger than a typical guy's torso, and pretty heavy to boot.

I probably spent a whole second admiring these sentries of modern civil engineering before I swing from there onto the façade of a three story building.

Fortunately, it's made of brick and I'm been taught how to climb those easily.

A few seconds later and I'm back on the roof, sprinting across it and back into the darkness.

Round one: Tommy 1, Foot ninjas 0.

---

Ten minutes later, I'm just about done patting myself on the back when I spot motion out of the corner of my eye.

I spin immediately, attempting to catch whoever it is trying to sneak up on me and am rewarded with a foot to the face.

I try to roll with it, but this guy has one hell of a kick, easily knocking me off my feet. I haven't been hit that hard since my "interview" with Hun all those weeks ago.

I take advantage of my sudden momentum to curl into a nice backflip, hit the ground tight, and spring backwards even farther, hoping to put some distance between me and my opponent.

It works, but any subtle advantage I may have gleaned evaporates as I get my first good look at my foe. As my brain attempts to process what my eyes observe, I stand there dumbstruck.

This guy's not human.

Sure he has two arms and two legs, is wearing human clothes including a mask and belt, wields two very human weapons (sais, for those of you keeping track as home), and walks like a human.

But he's green,

And he has a huge shell on his back.

And he has no hair.

And only three fingers.

In fact, he's pretty much a human turtle.

"Not a bad recovery. For a Foot."

Oh, great. It talks.

"Hey Mikey, ever see a Foot with this kind of uniform?"

Another one of these Turtle men appears out of the shadows. Unlike his buddy in red, this one wears yellow and carries num-chucks.

"I don't know, Ralph, they all look the same to me."

Somewhere deep inside, in whatever small portion of my brain that hasn't seized up in total shock, I wonder if this is still part of the test.

Maybe they're monitoring how we react to the unexpected on the battlefield.

Several seconds later than it should be, I finally assume a combat stance.

Yeah, that's gotta be it.

Because the alternative is quite simply insane.

"Oh, look, Mikey! This big, bad Foot ninja is gonna take us both on."

"Aw, that's no fair!" the yellow one whines, "I've had enough training for one night. The Late, Late Movie Monster Horror Show starts in 10 minutes!"

"Fine, then. I'll make this quick!"

The red one, clearly more aggressive, unsheathes his weapons and advances.

Once I see the moonlight glinting off the sharp blades of the sais, I begin to realize something.

I'm in deep shit.


	5. The Hunt: Finale

I must be high.

Or maybe I was slipped a hallucinogen somehow.

That's the only explanation I have for why there is a human-sized talking turtle trying to turn me into a pin cushion, while his buddy in yellow (or maybe orange, the light's not that great) is cracking bad jokes and generally acting like a retard.

And oh yeah, they're both dressed like ninjas.

I mean, that's some good shit, huh?

But as I barely avoid being eviscerated, and receive a smack across the face for my trouble, I realize that this is no drug-induced nightmare.

Unfortunately.

I block another strike, feeling a dull ache across my forearm.

This guy's almost as strong as Hun.

I let loose with a quick snap punch.

It connects, driving his head back a good couple inches.

The . . . turtle blinks, somewhat surprised.

I follow through with a side kick into the gut.

This time I manage to drive him back almost a yard.

"Come on, Raph! Quit playing around! Tonight's _Return of the Slug Ladies from Venus!_ And you know how good the first one was!"

"Shut up, Mikey!" The red turtle points one of his three fingers at me, "Play time's over, Foot. No buddy makes me look like a chump."

Suddenly, he's all over me.

He must have hit me three times before I manage to counter-attack. I tag him again with a strike, but it only seems to piss him off.

He back hands me.

Hard.

I'm knocked off my feet.

I tuck and roll, but he doesn't let up long enough for me to recover.

I feel a thud in my ribs and he pretty much lays me out.

Now he's crouched over me, sais to my throat.

Where's the Foot Clan when I need them?

"Raphael! Enough."

I stare up at my opponent and see nothing but seething rage.

This guy's going to kill me.

"I said, ENOUGH."

Somebody grabs him and literally pulls him off me.

I stare at my savior.

Great.

Another turtle.

This one's in blue.

Geeze, what is this, a convention?

"Back off, Leo! He's the enemy."

"And you beat him. It's over."

"It's not over until he's---"

"What do you think Master Splinter would say about you using your weapons on an unarmed foe?"

I tune out the rest of the conversation as I look for a way to escape. The red one, Raphael, is clearly out of my league and if his running buddies are anywhere nearly as good as he is, I don't have a chance in hell.

I'm slowly positioning my body for a sudden jump, when something taps the back of my head.

"Tsk, tsk. Where do you think you're going?"

There's a bo staff an inch away from my face.

Attached to it is yet another turtle. This one's in purple.

What's next? Brown? Pink?

"How about you stay put while Leo and Raph work this out?"

I decide self-preservation is more important than Foot clan procedure.

"How about you stick this up your ass?" I reply.

Apparently he's never heard a Foot ninja talk before, because he seems pretty shocked. I take advantage of this momentary confusion to grab his staff and rip it out of his hands. I use it for leverage and pop up like a jack-in-the-box.

"Hey!"

I bring the staff down hard on his head, but he's quick. He spuns and I strike his shell instead. The staff vibrates painfully in my hands, but I don't let go.

I swing it in a wide arc, and the purple one backs off out of reach. I almost feel sorry for him. This has got to be embarrassing.

"Way to go, Donny," Raphael says, as he begins to close with me. He shoots a quick glare at the blue one, "Happy now, Leo? He's armed."

I back up towards the edge of the roof. All four of them are advancing with careful and coordinated movement. The blue one has now unsheathed a katana and I can tell he knows how to use it. Plus, the yellow (orange?) one has stopped making jokes.

I'm so dead.

What happens next is somewhat blurry.

I'm all in last stand mode, my system awash in adrenalin, when several dark shapes appear from what seems to be _everywhere_.

All of a sudden, the roof is filled with Foot, and they're not taking any prisoners.

As my imminent death appears to be no longer on the menu, I begin to wonder what I should do. Technically, I'm not sanctioned for combat yet, but then again, I did just go a few rounds with them.

I start to wade into the fray (taking some satisfaction in the fact that the Foot aren't really doing much better than I was; only their numbers are making this a fair fight) when someone grabs my shoulder and pulls me back.

It's Master Yoshi.

He gives me the hand sign for "Retreat."

I am only too eager to obey.

---

A half hour later I find myself back on the roof of what I'm going to call for lack of a better title, Foot headquarters.

My body has decided to let me know that it is not a happy camper, but I take one look at Sato, who is running towards me, and all the pain goes away.

She looks like she's going to hug me and I open my arms like an idiot. She suddenly decides that's not a good idea and stops a few feet away.

"You made it! Last one caught, too!"

Okay, play it cool.

"Really? Awesome!" I blurt.

Did I mention I'm an idiot?

"Cool staff. Where'd you get it?"

"Huh?" Then I look at what I'm apparently still holding, "Oh, this?"

I shrug.

"Just a souvenir."

She raises an eyebrow quizzically.

I decide to change the subject because now that they're no longer standing in front of me, the idea of talking ninja turtles is completely insane and I really don't want to talk about it with anyone, much less Sato.

"So who else made it?"

"Jesse's in. She barely made it though, being the third one captured."

I let out a low whistle. I thought she would have done better. Probably fought too early instead of running like me.

"And how about you?"

"I was fourth. I made the mistake of moving from my hidey-hole. Should have gone with my first instinct and stayed put."

"Who else?"

Sato frowns and I already know.

Takara.

Great.

"So Theo and Shea…. ?"

She shakes her head, and leans in close.

I swear, even though she's clearly covered in dirt and sweat, she smells great.

"They were found all beat up. I think Takara ambushed them and left them for dead. Can't prove it, of course."

I catch Master Yoshi beckoning us over Sato's shoulder and gently squeeze.

"Come on. Looks like its graduation time."

---

I wish I could say I paid a lot of attention to the ceremony, but I'm troubled.

My mind keeps lingering on my bizarre encounter with those creatures.

If it wasn't for the staff I'm still holding, I'd think it was all some kind of strange dream.

And the few times I'm not obsessing on those turtles, I trying to figure out how the hell I can deal with Takara as a teammate. Now with just the four of us left, it's not like I can simply ignore him. We're going to be on the same squad!

And the tiny part of me not concerned with those weighty issues is too busy pondering how hot Sato is with her hair all messed up.

"Thomas."

I jerk out of my thoughtful state.

"Yes, Sensai?"

"Master Shredder commands that you attend him in the audience chamber."

"What? Why?" Adrenalin flushes through me for about the hundredth time tonight, "Did I do something wrong?"

The old man shakes his head and gestures toward the dojo.

"It is best if you don't keep him waiting."

Great.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

I hate my life.


	6. Shredder then Sato

Ever notice how time is relative?

I mean, sometimes, like when you're watching a TV show or talking to a friend or something else that you're really into, time just speeds by. Two hours? No way, that movie felt like 20 minutes long, tops.

But when you're stuck in math class and the teacher is just standing there droning on and on about quadratic equations or some other crap, and you can swear the second hand on the clock (which you've been watching almost from the minute you got there because you're so damn bored) has either stopped or begun moving backwards. 50 minute class? More like 50 days, or at least 50 hours.

Time flies when you're having fun and all that, right?

Wrong.

See, time is on a F-16 going Mach-5 right now, and I am most certainly NOT having fun. So time _doesn't_ fly when you're having fun.

Time hits light speed when you in a situation where you know your time is up. As in bye-bye cruel world because the Shredder is about to slice and dice me into bite-sized chunks of flesh and bone.

He'd do it, too. Of this I have no doubt. One look into his eyes (and one look is all I managed, because my gaze is now firmly implanted on the marble floor) and I knew I was one mistake away from a precise and painful vivisection.

My vocabulary tends to expand when I'm scared shitless.

"Explain to me again, Thomas," the Shredder says, twirling my absconded bo staff rapidly. While I don't look up, I can clearly hear the fan-like sound the weapon makes as he puts it through its paces. The sound is almost enough to mute the terror that wells up in me every time I hear his voice, especially when he says my name, "how you came to procure this weapon."

"Of course, Master Shredder," I reply smoothly. I don't know if there is another, grander title for him, but so far he hasn't taken offense. I have a feeling the leader of the Hand has no problem articulating his displeasure. Not that I ever want to be in a position to prove my little theory correct.

I reinterate (there's that vocabulary again) what happened and then conclude, "I believe I might have surprised the one in purple. Perhaps he'd thought I was in worse shape than I really was. In any case, if it wasn't for the arrival of the other members of the Foot, I doubt I would have held onto it for long."

"And why is that, Thomas? Were these creatures so much more capable?" The Shredder's tone hardens, and I'm wondering how screwed I'm going to be, "Perhaps our training is inferior to theirs?"

Shit. Jeeze, that's _not_ a loaded question. No, not at all.

'Cause, see, if I'm honest, he's probably going to get pissed and some bastard's gonna have to spent an hour cleaning my blood off the nice, expensive marble.

After he lugs my body to the incinerator, of course.

But if I'm dishonest, then he's obviously going to know (hell, he's probably reading my mind right now), and I'm gonna be killed because I dared to lie to the supreme leader of the Foot.

Think, Tommy, think!

"I'm in no position to speak on Foot training, Master Shredder. I've barely had any, and I'm sure I have so much more to learn before I can consider myself any kind of expert." Okay, I'm still breathing, keep it up, "I was merely predicting the likely outcome as I was outnumbered four to one and had been unsuccessful in single combat with just one of the . . . creatures. I'm sure the experienced Foot ninjas were much more successful."

Although I doubt it. I know I'm pretty good, but those guys (I refuse, now that I'm no longer looking at them, to call them turtles), well, those guys could probably give Hun a hard time. Hell, they might even be able to beat him.

The Shredder sits down. I dare to look at him again. If he's going to kill me, I at least want to see it coming.

Suddenly he tosses the bo staff at me, and I reflexively catch it.

"Well said, Thomas." He steeples his fingers under his chin, and I quickly decide to look back at the floor before I push my luck.

The silence grows like a tumor, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be the one to break it.

I've just about finished counting all the tiles within my view and extrapolated how many this room probably has (hey, I would have had a full ride to the Ivy League college of my choice if I'd had felt half as scared during the SATs as I do in the Shredder's presence), when he finally speaks.

"I begin to see why Hun has such high expectations for you," he lets that settle in my mind for a moment and then continues, "Mine will be higher."

His tone invites a response, but I have no idea what to say. I'm too busy thinking if the hole I've dug for myself will be hitting China soon.

So I stand up straight, make eye contact for a split second, and do my best bow.

"Leave me. You will receive your new assignment tomorrow."

I bow again and do my very best not to sprint from the audience chamber.

I almost make it but find myself jogging by the time I'm outside again.

---

Turns out Foot barracks are not much better then trainee barracks. But at least I have a room now. Too bad I have to share it with Takara.

Fortunately, the bastard's not here right now. Apparently he got wind of my meeting with the Shredder and he's given me a wide berth. I can tell he's pissed, but I also know he's too sensible to do anything about it, at least right now. Somehow I ended up as the Shredder's flavor of the month. Normally I'd be happy to shove that in Takara's face, but my sense of impending doom overwhelms any up side.

I've seen way too many movies where the head bad guy kills his loyal minions because they've failed him. Is that to be my fate? Am I one mistake or lapse in combat away from death? Or even a fate _worse_ than death?

I wallow in self-pity for awhile but am interrupted when there's a knock on the door. I quickly put my mask back on.

I hate it. It destroys my peripheral vision and gets pretty stuffy real quick. But I know what the penalty is to be without it while in uniform.

"Come in," I state clearly and stand up in greeting. Never know when Master Yoshi might come calling.

A Foot ninja enters and closes the door.

Then he stares at me.

He's not of superior rank, so I speak first, "Can I help you?"

The Foot cocks his head and sighs.

"And here I thought I had made an impression on you."

I immediately smile in relief and haul off my mask.

"Geeze, Sato! Don't do that! I have enough stress in my life."

She yanks her mask off as well and grins, "Don't we all, Favorite Son."

"Don't start that crap, Sato. I'd be happier if the Shredder didn't know me at all." Nothing good is going to come from it, I add silently.

"Yeah, but I think it's worth it just to see the look on Takara's face. He's down there in the training center right now, practicing his ass off, hoping one of the higher ups notices him." She gracefully lies down on my bed and stretches, "Don't know where the asshole gets the energy. I'm still wiped out from last night."

For once I'm grateful for the gender-neutral structure of the Foot uniform, because it allows me an even chance to stay focused on the conversation.

"You aren't the only one," I reply, sitting in a nearby chair, "At least you don't have the psychological scars on top of that."

She shoots me a wry look, "Come on, it couldn't have been _that_ bad!"

I crack my neck absently and look at the ceiling, "Let's hope you never know."

"Tom."

I immediately look at her. She's never called me that before.

"Are you okay?"

A half-dozen bullshit responses come to mind, but I can tell she's serious.

She's actually concerned about me.

The sudden warmth and affection I feel toward her doesn't give me any choice but to be honest.

"Not really."

She continues to watch me, eyes telling me that it's all right to continue.

"This is some crazy stuff we've gotten ourselves into," I begin.

She nods, "Yep."

"And everything's just spiraled out of control. I mean, what the hell are we supposed to be doing? Are we bodyguards? Are we assassins? What's our job description? Do we have benefits?"

I add the last one to break the tension.

Sato smiles, "I've heard we have excellent dental."

"Yeah, but the life insurance sucks."

She laughs and I soon join her.

God, it feels good to laugh.

I start to feel better.

"You know, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't knee deep in this crap with me, Sato."

She looks at me strangely, and I realize the possible interpretations of my statement.

"I didn't mean it like that," I continue, lamely.

She sits up, "Sure, you did."

Then she grabs me by my gi and pulls me to her.

She kisses me, and I'm in so much shock that she's already standing and donning her mask by the time I manage to process what happened.

"Keep the faith, Tom. For both of us."

Then she's out the door and gone.

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Author's Note:

Back by popular demand (okay, a little bit of demand). Looks like Tommy's got a tiny fan club, anyway. Thanks for all the reviews.


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